


Paper on Fire

by WhiskyTangoFoxtrot



Series: Up For Grabs [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 07:56:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4052359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiskyTangoFoxtrot/pseuds/WhiskyTangoFoxtrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wrote this because I've seen a lot of the old miscommunication trope. And I thought, wouldn't it be interesting if they just didn't talk at all?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paper on Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure how all this worked, but it was an interesting exercise to write. 
> 
> So if Cass and Varric start sleeping together, but never discuss it? What happens then?

Cassandra does the only thing she can do. She watches him, and lets her anger at him melt as he shuffles off.

He drops into stealth and speeds away through the brush, so she goes to her tent.

She has cleaned her face and arms, and is in her nightdress, a warm wrap around woolen robe, undyed, when her tent flaps rustle, and she hears his voice. "Seeker?"

Cassandra looks up, and sees his shadow reflected in the torchlight outside her tent. She stands and tightens her robe around her. "You can...come in." She says, and when he enters she sees his face and her heart breaks. Varric holds his crossbow loosely in his right hand, pointed at the ground, and he looks _so lost._

She takes a step at the same time he does, and she falls to her knees in front of him, drawn into the darkness of his eyes, the rich brown of Antivan brandy, and sharp, darting around the room, unable to look at her as tears well up in her eyes. Her voice breaks as she says his name, grasping Bianca _(she will hate Bianca)_ with her left hand, setting the weapon gently on the ground. He looks anywhere but at her, and she settles back on her heels, even though it loosens the tie of her robes by a tiny bit. His eyes finally drag to her, to her face, then to the deepening V of skin her knees are pulling out of her robe as she leans toward him.

His voice shakes when he speaks. "I'm sorry I lied to you. Bartrand is dead, now Hawke is dead. It's just me. It's just me and it's all my fault, now. Soon enough, red Lyrium everywhere." Varric is looking at her as though she will disappear at any moment. "Now I'm the only one left who had a part in this. _Now it really is All. My. Fault."_

"Varric, no, please..." Cassandra doesn't know what to say, so she finally gathers her arms around him, and pulls him into her bedroll, where she draws the blankets over them and nudges his head to her chest. Her long, lovely arms draw him closer around his neck, and he relaxes into her embrace. She is so soft, and so warm, and he is safe. He is safe for the first time since...since Ever. 

It is strange, finding comfort in the arms of a woman who has held him prisoner, threatened him. He realizes that he hadn't even thought to go anywhere else, and the thought breaks him. A low whine escapes his throat before he dissolves completely. Cassandra strokes his hair, tells him, "shhh..." and "it will be well" but when she says "I am here" he sobs and clutches himself to her. The sob wracks him, and his head falls back.

Cassandra can hold back her tears no longer. She pulls his head up to look him in the eyes and his are clenched shut, his face a rictus of sorrow, and she cries with him, her forehead resting against his. They are alone, wrapped in each other, for a long time, before sleep takes them.

He wakes with a start. Cassandra is still curled around him, but somehow in the night, Varric's arm has found its way into her robe, where it curls over her ribcage, the tip of his thumb just barely brushing the slope of her breast. Dawn has not yet broken, but the scent of the morning dew mingles with the scent of her he is breathing in. He wants to move and he doesn't. Before he can decide, her eyelids flutter open and she tenses when she feels his hand on her bare skin.

She is frozen when she looks into his eyes, struck by the indescribable look he is giving her as he holds her to him, and her head moves down on its own, presses her lips to his. His arm curls up to the back of her neck, trailing up the expanse of smooth and scarred skin, to clutch into her hair and pull her closer. He tastes of salt and apples, and Cassandra whimpers against him even as she unties the grey wool around her waist. She slings a bare leg over his hips, revealing a line of golden skin from her neck to her ankle.

His hand drops from her neck to the buttons on his tunic, not releasing her lips while he removes it. The three seconds it takes for him to pull it off his arms is too long to be away from her and he groans as their lips meet again, this time with heat, and longing, and when she runs her hand over and down his bicep, to his chest, he pushes the robe off her shoulders and releases her lips, crushing her breasts to him and trailing soft kisses down to her collarbone. She moans next to him and her hands trail down to the laces of his breeches. She shoves the leather down his legs, and grasps his shaft. He hisses as she gives it tentative stroke, and it surges in her hand while she guides it between her thighs.

They still lay on their sides, and it is almost easy for Varric to slip inside. She relaxes, and her body does not resist him at all, and they both gasp at the sudden feeling of completion. They stare at each other, mouths open in shock, as he finally sheaths himself fully within Cassandra. He rolls her over on to her back, slowly pressing deeper in to her, as far as he can, and she curls her arms and legs around him like paper on fire, a low moan on her lips. The first thrusts as they get used to each other are wonderful. 

_"oh, Seeker..."_

_"Maker...Varric!"_

Her head starts to roll back, but he reaches up through her arms, grabs the sides with both of his hands and whispers, "Look at me."

Their eyes meet again, and Cassandra shudders at the expression of wonder on his face. She must be wearing it too, because he smiles, and begins to pull out of her, to slowly slide back in. The sensation is marvelous, as he continues, and soon there is nothing in the world but him, slowly filling her, and his eyes, dark brown pools she is getting lost in. Her mouth falls open, and she moans as his mouth captures hers again and his hand trails down between them. She cannot control the way his touch makes her hips buck wildly or her eyes close or her head fall back, but something shifts between them, and suddenly he is moving faster, harder, rocking into her, making her whimper as she kisses him. Her low noises spur him on, and he moves urgently as her nails dig red crescents into his ass. His fingers do...something and her whole body tightens and she can feel heat pooling between her thighs, tightening, grasping at her heart, and when she comes it is with a muffled howl against his shoulder. It pulls him in, too, and he spends into her quickly, biting her collarbone hard enough to leave a mark.

They lay, panting for a few moments, before he rolls off her, and pulls her into his embrace. Her head rests on his chest while his hand trails down to the small of her back. She drags the blanket up over them, and they fall asleep without a word.

\---

The whole ride back to Skyhold, they share a tent, and Cassandra offers Varric comfort with her body or her presence. She sets up camp, cares for the horses. Lavellan and Bull leave them be, and there is very little chatter for the duration of the journey. Her heart is heavy, then, when they make the final ascent to the keep through the mountain pass. It means that whatever they have shared is coming to a close, and she regrets not speaking more. The gates open, and they file in to the stables and dismount. 

When she ascends the stairs to her quarters above the smithy, there is already a steaming bathtub there, courtesy of Josephine, she thinks. It is the sum total of thought she is ready to entertain as she sinks deep into the steaming scented water, dunking her head and relaxing. The grit from the road, the tension, seep out of her bones as she soaks. It is with a heavy heart that she washes and dries herself before dressing in her nightclothes and laying down on her warm, familiar pallet. 

Sleep does not come, and instead her mind will not be silenced. It conjures memories of the Fade, the spirit of the Divine. The stories of the travelers and trick mirrors Lavellan was drawn to. Their battle with the Nigtmare, a giant, six-headed dragon with So. Many. Teeth. That she did not believe they would survive. When one of its giant wings crashed towards her, it was Varric who tackled her out of the way. Varric's face at the inscription on his tombstone, the way her heart sank when they saw hers and he gave her that look, the same look on his face as when he took her the first time, silently in her tent. The weighing, measuring look she could not read when, the night before, he held her in his arms and kissed her for hours. Her hands push into her eyes and she wills herself to stop. Stop it. That was enough. It had to be. There is a war going on. He probably thinks it just a fling.

Cassandra turns and faces the wall, blanket at her chin, and tells herself stories of what her life would be like if Antony had lived.

\---

The tavern is raucous. Varric doesn't care. He sits with his feet dangling over the railing to the second floor, up in Cole's quiet little loft, waiting for the Kid to make an appearance, and sipping from a bottle of...something Antivan. He watches Cabot weave through the crowd, fists clutching tankards of ale, observes Bull passing his skin of Qunari dragon fire to one of the Chargers. Listens mirthlessly at the stupid song about Sera the bard has written.

It is not until the bottle is gone that he finds he really has no desire to wade back through the crowd to fetch more. He supposes as he stands up that he could head down to the cellar next to the small fiction library and snatch a bottle from there. He goes up the stairs and out through the battlements. Cullen's office is empty, and when he passes down the stairs near the stables they are the same. He shrugs and goes into the great room beneath the hall, and into the Inquisitor's deep stocks. There's a case labeled in Elvish. He avoids it, and instead reaches for two bottles of Fereldan beer. It's chilled enough to be drinkable, so he leaves and goes to his room in the towers above the garden.

The first bottle is gone in minutes. He really is thirsty, and the sharp aftertaste of the beer is refreshing. It is sharp and sweet at the same time, and it cools his mouth and his insides as he slumps in his chair. Sharp and sweet makes him think of the Seeker, the way her lips clung to his while they made love. Her teeth would drag on his lower lip just so, and it drove him mad inside her. He cards a hand through his hair and groans. Of course he was a heel to her, leaning on her, using her so on the way back to Skyhold.

At the time it had been so easy, to fall into Cassandra and let her soothe his pain away. He wondered if she felt used, or if he had hurt her. There were a few nights where things had gotten rough but she had accepted it, and him, wordlessly allowing him to bite and scratch, still arching into him and purring into his mouth and once, one glorious, helpless cry that made it entirely clear to Bull and Lavellan exactly what was going on in their tent at night. The next morning, while he wondered how she was sitting so still and painless in her saddle, Bull opened his mouth to speak to her but she held up a hand and glared at him. He looked right at Varric, who said nothing, before turning in his saddle and easing his nuggalope into a brisk canter.

Varric sips the bottle of beer slowly, savoring it and turning over the last few weeks with the Seeker in his mind. When his heart starts to break, because he is too much of a coward to go to her, he gets out a quill and begins to write a letter.

\---

_Seeker,_

_We really didn't speak much, these last few weeks, and I know that you will probably be very angry at me for this, but I can't face you_

_I want to come see you but what if you don't want me?_

_maker, I think I am in love with the woman I have spent the last three weeks using like a toy_

Varric sighs, and holds the vellum to his candle. It curls around his fingers they way her arms and legs curled around his body, and he watches it burn before he sits down to write depressing letters to Hawke's friends. He saves Anders for last, sorrow compounding sorrow as his quill drags slowly across the pages. His mind turns to her, sometimes, and he is unsurprised as the occasional tear smears the ink. \---

Two days pass, and they have not seen each other, even in passing. Cassandra flogs the training dummies, and herself for being too cowardly to go see Varric, writes in a blank journal about the events in the Fade, trying and failing at capturing the experience the way he would. She is in her room, changing to meet Lavellan for dinner, and since she is meeting the Inquisitor herself, she decides to put on a dress. Not a dress, she amends, her dress, her only dress. It is soft, made of blue Antivan cotton, probably out of style, but she does not care. She washes her face and adjusts her braid, then pulls on some slippers and heads out into the courtyard.

Her guts clench as she climbs the stone staircase that leads to the main keep, and it is only her stubbornness that keeps her face smooth as she reaches the top and walks through the doors. Relief and disappointment mix, because he is not at his desk, and she strides to the door of the Inquisitor's chambers. Climbs the stairs. She is lost in her own thoughts as she reaches the top, and she turns and looks up. And there he is.

Maker preserve him, she's wearing a dress, and it is all he can do not to cross the room and take her into his arms. Instead he folds his hands behind him, and tilts his head at the small table set up next to him. She walks over to it, and he holds up a small piece of parchment. It reads: 

_Please, you two are my dearest and closest friends. While I know it is none of my business, it hurts my heart to watch you two be miserable. Maybe you won't be if you would TALK TO EACH OTHER. And yes, that's an order. --L._

She looks up from the paper at him and cannot speak. Silence stretches between them.

"I am sorry, Seeker." He grates out. She looks beautiful in her dress, and it is all he can do to say the next words. "I should not have...abused your trust as I did. I should not have used you so."

"Used me?" Cassandra echoes. "How have you used me?" Disgust rises in her throat. "Do I mean so little to you, that you could lie to me, then have..." Her voice falters but she plows on. "Then spend all those nights with me, and then not speak to me?"

"Cassandra, I..."

"Do you honestly think I would have allowed you in my tent if I did not want you there?."

His eyes widen as she looks at him. "I suppose you wouldn't."

"So tell me again how you've used me."

"For comfort?" It sounds stupid when he says it out loud, and he realizes what a fool he has been. 

"Something I needed as well. I remind you that I kissed you that first morning."

"So you did. And I'm an ass."

"You are."

He pulls her into his arms and kisses her softly, presses his forehead to hers. "We should talk more often, I think."

"Perhaps we should." She says. "It has been a difficult time for you."

"Not so easy for you, either." Varric replies.

"Nothing worth doing is."

"Even this?" His arms tighten around her.

"This, especially."

\---

When Lavellan returns from her lover's room, the table is still set, but the bottles of wine, and bread and cheese are gone. In their place is a note, in Varric's hand, that simply says:

_thank you_

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed, or at least found things in character.
> 
> Thanks for reading.


End file.
